Now

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In a completely bizarre twist of events, Suman finds herself sitting across Pushkar Kashyap, swirling a spoon in the cup of coffee he ordered for her, just moments ago. She lets her spoon create whirlpools of foam as she mixes the sugar and milk thoroughly. Oddly enough, the motion is a familiar reminder of the vortex that is her own life and how simple it is to fall into the mundanity of the person she burnt to ashes and reduced to dust, the person she once used to be.

Suman's always known that coming forward, out of nowhere and after five long years of radio silence presents its own set of complications.

The whispers. The questions. The stares.

She knows how to handle all of this. She is one of those rare, infuriating people with a three-step-plan on how to escape all awkward situations relatively unscathed. And if by misfortune, her initial plan doesn't bear fruits, there is almost, always a plan B lurking between the gears of her mind. So, imagine her surprise and embarrassment when she finds herself folding and unfolding her sleeve repeatedly under Pushkar's curious gaze as if waiting for her to be the one who breaks the ice first and say something.

"I never pictured you having lattes as a beverage," she blurts out before taking a sip from her cup of coffee, an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness lingering in the air.

Drinks. That's always a safe topic.

Pushkar raises a single brow, looking at her for a second too long before his confused expression smooths away in a cheeky grin. "Well, it took me a while to realize that hot chocolate is not something that appeals in the corporate world and coffee stains just proved to be another damn to my existence, so you know..." He offers lamely as he shrugs half-heartedly in a quizzical motion that reeks out so much familiarity that she can't help the soft chuckle that escapes her lips.

"How long have you been back, by the way?" He asks a simple question, taking a sip of his latte in between, but she hears all the implications behind his genuine curiosity.

"Hardly a month," she answers honestly, thoughts trailing off. He shoots her a look of surprise, one she barely acknowledges if the way she fiddles with the handle of her cup is any indication to go by.

Then cautiously because he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable. "What took you so long?"

"I guess..." She inhales sharply, pursuing her lips. "I was waiting for the right time."

She dares to look up from her cup of coffee and sees how Pushkar's easygoing smile transforms into something akin to compassion. For the first time, that afternoon, she regrets entering into the cafe with him, she brought this on herself — the sympathy and pity she doesn't deserve, doesn't want, deteriorating her state of mind.

"So," Pushkar prompts, tapping out an aimless beat against his knee. "I take it, I'll see more of you, now that we're going to be colleagues."

That gets a wry upturn of lips out of her. "I doubt that." Then quietly, "I don't think I quite match your firm's standards."

"Correction," He counters, clucking his tongue at her in mock-disapproval. "My father's firm."

Her face remains neutral, lip just slightly curled in amusement. "Semantics."

"Or, if you're okay with it, I could put up a word or two for you, like a recommendation."

Suman just chokes on an incredulous laugh. "As in you want me to take advantage of your position in the firm, and bear digs of nepotism for the rest of my life? I appreciate it but I think, I'll pass."

Pushkar bobs his head in silent agreement, the quiet enveloping them both for some moments. Suman breaks through it. "I am sorry if I sound ungrateful or condescending, especially since you owe me nothing, but I want to make it on my own—"

"Hey," he calls her out softly, effectively putting an end to her rambling. "I might not have seen you or heard from you in five years but I do remember who you are and I get where you are coming from."

His words echo in her mind and she is forced to look down, not trusting herself to make eye contact without giving away something monumental as feelings. Something as simple as emotions.

I don't even know who I am.

Instead, she ends up saying something else altogether, "I should get going, I have a lineup of interviews waiting for me."

"All the best." Pushkar holds his cup in the air as if to raise a toast. She dismisses the gesture with a rueful shake of her head.

And just as she is about to pass the threshold, she says, "By the way, next time you want to fight coffee stains, try cold water."

Pushkar nods with a smile. "It's good to have you back Tiwari."

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Stretched-up on the couch, his back resting against the right armrest while his feet dangled on the opposite side, Shravan busies himself in taking notes from the documentary he is currently watching, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose while his laptop rests on his lap.

"Here." Nirmala passes him a cup of scalding hot tea, one he deposits on the coffee table near him to let it cool off.

"How is it going so far?" She asks as she sinks down on the single sofa by his right.

"Better than I expected."

"Sham Kashyap called today," Nirmala tells him and from the tone she uses, he can tell something big is awaiting him.

"Did he now?" Shravan doesn't look up from his notebook.

Nirmala sighs. "He is concerned about you..."

Silence.

"And so am I," Nirmala admits softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Reluctantly, he looks up to her and her worry must be apparent enough that he decides to put a stop to his activities and give her his undivided attention.

"There is no reason to be," he answers, short and clipped.

"If there's no reason to be, then why hide the outcome of your interview from me?" Her question is accusatory, her tone even more.

"Because there's nothing worth telling," he says, cool, almost unbothered.

"Oh, really? Then, why do I feel that there is more to this story?" Nirmala tilts her head to the side, waiting almost challenging him to elaborate further.

It's tempting to lie, to talk his way through this one, feed her with feasible excuses and wrap her mind with half-truths uttered with measured confidence that leaves no room for doubts or arguments, that are meant to reassure more than brainwash or appease. He is capable of doing it, he does it all the time and it seems to work in his favor, at least in a court of law. But, he won't. He respects her too much for that. And she knows him too well for that.

So, he attempts to salvage his predicament, the second-best way he knows — with humor, trying a different approach seems both pointless and infeasible to him.

"Okay, fine," Shravan admits with a chuckle, scrubbing a hand over his face quickly. "I might have omitted some parts of that story, you know how rubbish my memory is."

"Shravan," Nirmala admonishes, warning lining her voice, "Stop beating around the bush."

His face immediately sobers at the admonition, his shoulder straightening. He avoids to look at her directly in the eye and his voice comes out as a strained whisper. "I declined the job offer from Kashyap and Associates."

Nirmala exhales, and she doesn't sound judgmental, just worried when she asks, "Why would you do that?"

"I don't think I am quite fit to be working for such a big firm," he murmurs, cynicism at its finest.

"Since when?" she asks incredulously, surprise lacing her words.

"Since my surname has become a hindrance of sorts and a way to spice up headlines!" Shravan snaps, heated, but not at her, not even at himself for once, his voice croaking.

Realization dawns upon Nirmala like a bucket of ice-cold water, her posture goes rigid and her shoulders stiffen. She closes her eyes, willing the moisture that gathers behind her eyelids to fade away and takes a deep breath through her nose. Shravan senses the shift in her demeanor and reaches out to put a comforting hand above hers, his thumb caressing the skin that is not as smooth as it used to be.

"What happened?" His mother asks, her voice tender and affectionate as if trying to coax the truth out of him.

Shravan pinches the bridge of his nose, probably to stop the tears from coming "I am tired..." Roughly, he admits, "I am tired of people making assumptions about who my father was, about what happened and what he did, countless questions I have no idea how to answer..."

Every one of his interviews ended on this sour note, the recruiters seemed to take an unfair amount of interest in his late father's endeavors and the reasons behind his 'exile' to England. Then came the crushing realization, he didn't have any answers to give when he, himself had so many questions of his own and his quest to find answers had only hollowed out him further. Shravan felt cornered from all the sides. His honesty and hard work, his accolades and degree, they all seemed to pale in front of the humongous scandal his surname was forever attached to.

Nirmala stares at him long and soft, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck as she caresses his nape and then she asks, in barely a whisper, "Are you ashamed of your father? Of your name?"

He gives his head a slight shake, silently dismissing his mother's assumption. "That's not what I meant." Shravan counters, sounding regretful, reminiscent, even. "I have nothing to be ashamed of, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

Nirmala searches his face before finally finding what she was looking for and nodding in agreement. "Then, take the job."

"Maa —"

"Shravan, you just said that you have nothing to be ashamed of, then don't let anyone or anything dictate your choices."

He studies her for a moment, her words ring true and logical and yet a part of him is still reluctant to take the plunge. There is so much at stake. So much history.

What if it's a terrible mistake?

"At least, go and meet Sham tomorrow and if you're still not convinced, we'll never talk about it again. I promise you." Nirmala smiles, her expression earnest and her touch soothing like a mother's caress always is and just like she's allayed his fears.

"I am not getting out of this one, am I?" He groans but there's some amusement weaved through the frustration. "Only because it's you."

Nirmala's answer is a huge smile. "Why do you think your father was incapable of saying no to me?"

Shravan hides his smile behind his cup. "I wonder why."

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Suman tiptoes inside the living room quietly, like she did every time she'd sneaked out of the house. Unlike those last times, however, someone is waiting for her.

At the sight of her mother sitting at the dining table, she stops short, reigning in the growl of frustration caught in her throat. "Why are you still awake?" She asks enunciating each word very clearly.

"Good evening to you too," Priya retorts, seemingly unfazed by Suman's biting tone.

Suman exhales loudly as she walks past her in the kitchen and serves herself a cold glass of water from the bottle she takes out from the fridge.

"I was waiting for you," Priya murmurs, her voice a mere whisper among the humming of the refrigerator, the harsh wind blowing through the windows and the passing vehicles on the street.

"I told you a hundred times not to stay awake and wait for me," She says, stiff, the set of her mouth tight when she looks over at her. "It's a waste of time."

"It wouldn't be if you came home in time." She says quietly. A taunt. A silent taunt that has her palms curling in fists that makes her knuckles a bony white and her jaw clenching from her sheer will of not materializing all the mean and vicious things she wants to yell at her.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Well, I am not a child anymore for me to follow your curfew and simply nod at whatever new rules you decided you wanted me to follow." Hearing herself, her words heavy with burning resentment, she is taken aback for the space of a second.

Priya makes a sound that seems to convey disapproval and denial all at once. "I only said that because I care about you."

"Supposedly," Suman hastens to add, digging her nails into the skin of her palm to calm the racing of her pulse.

"Look, Suman," Priya says quickly, with the fatalistic air of someone running out of time. "I worry about you and the neighbors were telling me that it's not safe for girls to  —"

Suman's dark chuckle cuts her off, her sharp gaze imperceptible, "So this is what all of this is about, huh? Your neighbors and your shiny new reputation that must be protected at any cost?"

Priya scoffs. "Do you think that shallow of me?"

"Do you really want me to answer this one?" Suman arches a brow at her, her question dry.

Priya shuts her eyes and shakes her head, all her words hitting her at once. "You can't forever hold a grudge against me, Suman."

"A grudge?" It was Suman's turn to scoff. She sighs heavily. A foolish tear springs to her eyes and she wipes it away quickly. "For twenty years, you've lied to me and I've swallowed all your lies because you were the one feeding them and now when you're on the receiving end, you are incapable of handling it?"

Priya winces inwardly, regretting her choice of words instantly. "I didn't mean you upset you, I just want us to be able to talk."

"What do you want, mother?" She sighs and hits her head against the fridge. She just wants this conversation to end already.

"I want you to forgive me, you have to forgive me." The plea that escapes her mother's lips is so wrought with
the desperation that Suman actually softens for a moment.

Her mind tries to stave off the ghosts of her past while struggling to remain in the present. But, the echoes from the dead are louder than any lullaby that rocked her to peaceful slumber and her pocket-universe is a closet of skeletons filled with infinite memories that pierce her soul with every breath she takes, with every tear she sheds.

"You want forgiveness?" She says this with a faint air of amusement because it's almost amusing. "Forgiveness is earned, not served on a silver platter," She swallows, tamping down the sudden swell of emotion rising to her throat.

"Suman..." Priya whispers brokenly, tears of despair shining in her eyes. Regrets courses through every pore of her being, Suman should have been able to keep her innocence and her will to live but it's that she can't give back to her now. There is a divide between them that seems insurmountable.

She clears her throat, puts her glass on the counter and walks away. "I am done here."

Wary and exhausted from the events of the day, Suman finds comfort in the safety of her blankets and is about to drift away to a long and well-deserved sleep when her phone lights up with a notification.

It's a text from Pushkar.

'Tomorrow meeting at Kashyap and Associates. 9 am sharp. You need to be there.'

And that's how a long and well-deserved night of sleep turned into another sleepless and restless night for Suman Tiwari. Another notch to her insomnia's belt.

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Thoughts?

The next chapter is set in the past and by my calculation, you might get some ShraMan (kidding you're definitely getting ShraMan.) I loved writing the scene between Suman and Priya, I hoped I did justice to it. We're slowly but surely unraveling the secrets from the past. Patience, patience.